


The Spoils of War

by kitnkabootle



Category: Dangerous Liaisons (1988)
Genre: 18th Century, F/F, Femslash, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Period-Typical Underage, Power of Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 02:00:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11393040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitnkabootle/pseuds/kitnkabootle
Summary: The young Cécile de Volanges regrets her transgressions with Valmont and goes to the Marquise in the dead of night to avoid him, while she stays at Madame de Rosemonde's country estate.





	The Spoils of War

**Author's Note:**

> Why not? 
> 
> [Thank you to the lovely JRingo for looking this over and for your insight, as always]

"What makes you feel shameful my dear?" The Marquise de Merteuil whispered in to the shell of her ear, penetrating the silence of the bed chamber.

She had come to the Marquise’s room in the middle of the night, hiding from the Vicomte’s usual visit to her own. It wasn’t that she hadn’t enjoyed her tutelage under the master Valmont, but the plague of worries and doubt had worked itself to a frenzy within her. What would Danceny think, should he find out about the new arrangement? What was even more troubling was that she had begun not to care at all for what he would think. Her life before her talk with the Marquise de Merteuil was now barely a memory. The very Marquise, whose bed she now lay in, whose body she was pressed against as she told of her innermost fears.

Cécile canted her head to the side, the light from the candle spilling across the older woman's face and glittering in her sharp, cold eyes. How could she answer the Marquise's question? How could she say sinful words to the very woman that had encouraged her education by the Vicomte. So Cécile said nothing, fingers toying with the ribbon closure from Madame’s linen night dress.

The Marquise was not placated by silence. Her eyes traveled across Cécile's face, down her neck, over her robe that had slipped so low off her shoulder that one pink nipple colored the lace trim. She could feel the older woman’s gaze everywhere at once, scoring her flesh and rending it to the bone. She moved her hand to straighten the robe, to conceal what was left of her modesty, but found the Marquise's soft hand had stilled her. 

"Show me," The Marquise breathed into the warm night's air between them, then she sunk back into the bed, one arm arched back beneath her head, framing her pale hair, loose from the usual pins and coiffure. 

"Madame?" Cécile questioned the meaning of the Marquise's words, certain they could not be as they implied. But Madame’s fingertips trailed over her own freckled décolleté, clean from the usual armor of white powder and paints, tracing the edge of the lace before slipping beneath and etching across one nipple, coaxing it to rise and press against the sheer fabric. The Marquise met her eyes, and Cécile was transfixed. The older woman never appeared before society without the trappings of corsetry and panniers, neck and fingers heavy with jewels, the color robbed from her skin and replaced with expertly applied rouge and coals where she desired it. Yet here she lay, color at her skin blooming of its own accord, eyes unlined, lips pale concealing a tongue, Cécile knew, sharp enough to draw blood with few words.

"I think you understand perfectly Cécile. You are, after all as the Vicomte has imparted to me— a quick study," The Marquise's cool hand lifted from her own skin to cup Cécile's delicate cheek. Her thumb traced the plumpness of her lower lip and Cécile could not stop her tongue from moistening it when it parted them. Eyes locked with the Marquise, Cécile could feel the flutter of excitement building in her womb. It was not a feeling of fear or even trepidation that spread within her this time, but that of promise. A promise that she was in the Marquise's wise hands and at her very mercy. 

The Marquise's fingernails scraped at her scalp behind her ear and Cécile felt the gentle pull as she lowered her mouth towards Madame’s nipple tenting the linen of her night dress. Her stomach still fluttered, even as she latched her lips around it, wetting the fabric of the gown and eliciting a contented sigh from the Marquise's pale lips. 

"Show me what the Vicomte has taught you," the Marquise implored in the low, sensual voice Cécile had heard tell of; That voice which could draw grown men to her feet. Cécile felt her own desire culminate between her thighs.

She sucked Madame’s nipple into her mouth, her tongue circling it despite the fabric still restraining it, remembering how the Vicomte had shown her. Her teeth grazed the taut bud, as Valmont’s had her own only the night previously, her lips pulling Madame’s flesh deep into her mouth and sucking hard enough to bruise it. When it slipped past her teeth, Cécile closed her fingers along the collar of the Marquise’s night dress and pulled it down to expose the inflamed skin to her eyes. When she saw the way the Marquise’s bosom heaved she could not keep the pride from lighting her face. The Marquise caught sight of it.

“Surely he’s shown you more than that,” she all but laughed cruelly, turning disinterested pale eyes heavenward. But Cécile was not intimidated, made brazen by the Marquise's bared breast, still red from her mouth and glistening from her kiss. She bent forward, and slid the palm of her hand between the Marquise's knees dragging her nails along the sensitive soft skin upwards as she parted her thighs. She lifted Madame’s night dress up to her middle and used her fingertip to draw inkless lines from freckle to exposed freckle along her flat stomach, still marked from her corset. Her fingers travelled downwards then, across the tops of her thigh, freckle to freckle, vein to vein, down between her knees. When she dared look back at the Marquise’s face, she found her eyes fixed upon her, lips moist.

“What else, Cécile?” The Marquise’s voice was but a whisper, throat thick and eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly. “Show me what you have learned from your studies.”

Cécile crawled between the Marquise’s parted thighs and did.


End file.
